


Hook

by moriartyfortheevening



Category: Jimlock - Fandom, Sheriarty - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartyfortheevening/pseuds/moriartyfortheevening
Summary: This is just a rambling spew of Sheriarty from my brain. The song mentioned is Hook from Blues Traveler. There is mentions of suicide, death, depression, anxiety, and ptsd in this fic if it triggers anyone you you guys. Just be warned.





	Hook

Jim sat at his computer, typing furiously at the worn black keys. It was a cloudy dark Thursday and Jim hadn’t left the flat all day. He wasn’t one for the cold or the wet weather that London provided and so he resorted to planning a new case for the world’s Consulting Arsehole. Yes, Jim was pissed. He hadn’t slept well that night due to a nightmare and Sherlock had left early for a case, 

‘A stupid, dull case,’ thought Jim, continuing to type and monitor several screens at once. He had tried to convince Sherlock to stay with him, but the tall drink of water was just as stubborn as he was and wouldn’t have any of Jim’s nonsense that morning. Jim reflected upon this and frowned as he replied back to the Russian mobster he was corresponding with. If all went well, Jim would have a juicy new puzzle for his man and a senator in Belarus dead. Honestly, it was like hitting two birds with one stone. Jim never did like the Belarusian government. Well, he didn’t like any government and any opportunity to fuck with one always gave Jim a rush of cold murderous glee. Jim smiled a cheshire grin and finished typing out a message. The man was willing to accept Jim’s contract, perfect! 

Opening up a new tab, Jim turned up his bluetooth speaker and connected his computer to it. A little music went a long way with the irishman and he generally found himself happier with something providing background noise while he worked. Something to just drown out the deafening silence that made his ears ring and his head spin with all sorts of nasty thoughts. 

Returning back to his work, Jim opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a blue notebook and a pen. Nobody had ever seen this notebook and Jim kept it that way. Nobody needed to see the half scribbled ideas of destruction and the messy thoughts of the space hastily wrote on faded sticky notes. Maybe one day he would show someone, but today was not that day. Jim flipped to the next blank page and uncapped the pen with his teeth. A murder required some delicate planning, creativity and time. Thankfully, Jim had plenty of both. Dealing with this kind of murder was always tricky but Jim wouldn’t have it any other way. Jim bobbed along with the heavy guitar and bassline that pumped through the airwaves through his speaker as he interchanged between writing and typing with the idiot on the other end of the chatroom. 

“What’s wrong with a little destruction,” hollered Jim, in sync with the current band playing. In his youth, Jim had religiously listened to alternative rock music. Sherlock, the cleverly daft man, believed that he exclusively listened to classical music. He hasn’t corrected him yet. He particularly enjoyed Franz Ferdinand and The Killers. Both bands were what the kids called “edgy” but Jim didn’t care. The song changed to another upbeat rock song and Jim swayed in his chair, running his hand through his perfectly slicked back hair. He tapped his pen on the mahogany desk to the beat, leaning forward and scribbling down another idea as it came to him. 

 

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The front door closed and a coat was hung on the rack beside the door, along with a blue scarf. The man wiped his feet absently, listening to the faint music coming from behind a closed office door. The man wasn’t familiar with the song, but he wondered curiously if it was a secret pleasure of his man’s. Sherlock made his way to the kitchen and turned on the kettle and grabbed his favorite mug from the cupboard overhead. The music hadn’t stopped, much to the man’s surprise. Usually the criminal would be sitting in the living room, waiting for him or playing on his phone. 

‘Must be something important,’ mused the tall Brit. The water was done boiling and Sherlock poured the heated water into the mug and adding cream to the dark tea. He repeated the process, adding more hot water into a dark cup with the irish emblem of House Moriarty. He waited a few moments, letting the tea steep until it was a dark rose color. Jim always did like his tea stronger. 

‘Must be a gaelic thing,’ hummed Sherlock, adding sugar and cream to the cup, along with a spoon in the side of the saucer, ‘Or maybe just a Jim thing.’ The man carried the cups into the office, setting the tray down briefly on the coffee table to open the door. What Sherlock found was both endearing and a bit sexy, if Sherlock was honest. Jim was inclined in his high backed chair, eye closed, crooning softly to himself while he tapped his pen on his desk. If Jim knew that Sherlock was there, he hadn’t responded and Sherlock took the opportunity to look at Jim’s screen while sitting down the tray on the desk. 

“Suck it in, suck it in, suck it in if you're Rin Tin Tin or Anne Boleyn. Make a desperate move or else you'll win,” Jim’s sudden singing startled Sherlock a bit and he flinched, “ And then begin to see what you're doing to me; this MTV is not for free. It's so PC it's killing me.” Jim cracked an eye open and looked up at Sherlock, grinning a bit and leaning forward to take his tea. He blew on it and continued to sing rapidly,

“So desperately I sing to thee of love. Sure, but also rage and hate and pain and fear of self and I can't keep these feeling on the shelf. I've tried, well no, in fact I lied. Could be financial suicide but I've got too much pride inside to hide or slide, I'll do as I'll decide and let it ride till until I've died. And only then shall I abide by this tide of catchy little tunes, of hip three minute diddies  
I wanna bust all your balloons. I wanna burn of all your cities to the GROUND!” Jim laughed and took a sip of his now cooling tea, humming the rest of the song to himself. Sherlock, who had pulled over a chair and sat down, stared at his man perplexed. He had never seen Jim sing, nor so happy for that matter. It made Sherlock’s head spin a bit and blood travel down to his southern regions. If Jim knew, he didn’t comment but happily hummed along to the next song and put a faded notebook away back into the bottom drawer of his private desk. Sherlock knew better to ask and so he sipped his tea and watched the criminal close the rest of his internet tabs on the computer.   
Sherlock understood the appeal, the song that currently was good. It was calming and Sherlock found himself bobbing from side to side along to the beat. He watched Jim murmur the lyrics to himself and couldn’t help but feel happy along with Jim’s infectious mood. He had thought that he would be coming home to a sour, stroupy man, but the bubbly happiness was a nice change to the dismal feeling hanging over the flat the last couple days.   
Sherlock was aware of Jim’s depression. He hadn’t realized it until after he faked his death five years previous and Jim had attempted suicide. If the bullet had been an closer to the Posterior Cerebral, Sherlock wouldn’t be watching his man dance around his office and into the living room. It really did put things in perspective for Sherlock, and he found himself appreciating the shorter man for his personality and charm and not just for his brain. It had taken a while for Jim to adjust however. After Jim shot himself, he went through a slight period of amnesia, no to mention the anxiety, PTSD and more depression than he felt regularly. After the “Fall” as they both referred to it, Sherlock realized that Jim needed him, just as much as he needed Jim. So, Sherlock set up therapy and psychiatrist meetings for Jim. At first Jim refused and it was rough to get Jim to even go, but after a few months of constant pestering, Jim finally went and found it to be helpful. He still won’t talk to Sherlock about it, but Sherlock made sure to check up with both doctors to make sure that Jim was doing alright. So far, everything was going steady and Sherlock secretly was proud of Jim.   
Sherlock shook himself back into the present and noticed Jim on the coffee table, swinging his hip with his arms above his head, cackling madly as he danced. Sherlock chuckled, finding the situation both ridiculous, amusing, and sexy all at the same time. He went over and grabbed Jim’s hand, pulling him gently down from the furniture to spin him around to the next song. A jazzy electronic cover of a song blasted from the tiny speaker as Sherlock spun his man around. The two men swung around the living room to trumpets and bassline, dancing very fifties swing dance. Sherlock grinned down at the other man, who grinned back up as they finished the dancing to the last chorus of the song. Both men were sweaty and heaved for air and laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“It’s good for us, to release our inner child once and a while. We are quite serious seventy percent of the time,” Jim noted. Sherlock purred an agreement and pulled his lover towards the kitchen, who willing saddled up to his side and wrapped an arm around his narrow waist. Sherlock’s skin trembled at the contact. God, he loved it when Jim touched him, both innocently and not. It felt good to feel wanted and to feel like a living human being and not just a magnificent brain. He knew that Jim loved him through and through and Sherlock’s heart quivered and pounded at the rush of sentiment for his dangerous lover. 

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Jim looked at his beautiful man, flushed from the dancing and perfectly brilliant in his own unique way. Sherlock had moved from Jim’s side to fetch a couple of plates from the cupboard for a snack for the both of them. This gave Jim time to gaze at the detective. He was quite handsome and Jim was pretty sure that Watson would have snatched him up if he was anything but straight. How lucky was he that Sherlock had fallen, in both sense of the word, for him. Jim still wasn’t sure why. He knew and recognized that Sherlock and himself were the same, but that still didn’t explain why the tall handsome British man with the voice like molten chocolate had fallen head over heels in love with him. He wasn’t complaining however. Jim had been in love with Sherlock since they first met. A simple crush had blossomed over the course of the years spent chasing each other and it had almost been too much for the sensitive Irishman. 

“Apple slice for your thought?” asked Sherlock, offering a small plate of freshly cut apple slices. Jim looked at the plate and laughed, taking a slice and biting into it. Around the sweet fruit he spoke,   
“My thoughts are worth more than apple slices, Dearest.” Sherlock chuckled and set the plate down on the table. He stepped a small step forward and leaned into Jim’s space.   
“How about a kiss?” he asked flirtatiously, his voice dropping down a half octave. Jim blinked and smirked slowly, looking up at Sherlock.  
“Is Mr. Holmes flirting with me?” teased Jim, “ How can I refuse such a beauty?”   
Sherlock leaned in closer and brushed his lips across the criminal’s, who responded almost instantly, standing up on his tiptoes to meet the cupid shaped lips for a deep kiss.   
“You can’t,” retorted Sherlock, a small smile of victory on his face. Jim laughed and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s shoulders. They met for another kiss, full of passion and love.   
“Ah, I was just thinking about you. You know I still haven’t successfully killed you yet. I promised I would,” confessed Jim, a mock thoughtful expression gracing his features. Sherlock huffed and laughed, pushing Jim’s face away from him.   
“Cheeky bastard,” commented Sherlock, shooting Jim a well natured glare, certainly one he didn’t mean. Jim laughed and finished his apple slice and reached for another one. The two ate the rest of the slices in a contemplative silence, both just pleased to be in the company of the other.


End file.
